..There’s a last
-ditch effort to our breathing,
a long slow grieving process(progress?)that comes sharp
with every sunset.

We watch it plop
into mountain range
ocean spill
quiet plain;
disappear as if
it never shined. We hold
its last rays in tired hands
and hope…………..(know?)another is not so
very far behind.(Right?)

We mourn, for we have not
always spent it well,
this day. These hours. Too
few. Handfuls, really. In hands
already too full of
other things. Too busy
to touch another’s face. Too
worried about the human race
to bend and fold
and pray.